


The Mum Test

by Kerichi



Series: Draco Malfoy/Lily Luna Potter Alchemical Romance [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Drama, F/M, Family, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 11:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11943045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerichi/pseuds/Kerichi
Summary: All children test a parent’s will and patience now and then, but when Lily runs off with Draco-bloody-Malfoy, Ginny Potter faces a test like no other.





	The Mum Test

 

“I want to hug you and protect you . . . and I want to shake you until your teeth rattle.” It struck Ginny as a bit mental, speaking to an empty room. It was Lily’s bedroom, and since her daughter had run off with Draco-bloody-Malfoy, it would have to do. She needed a way to vent her feelings. Harry would’ve listened, but Ginny couldn’t add the weight of her own guilt to her husband’s.

 

She sat on the platform bed Lily had chosen to replace the narrow, canopied four-poster that had embodied Ginny’s childhood dream bed.

 

“I’m furious with myself as much as you.” This time she spoke to the letter in her hand, words written by a young woman who would always be her little girl. “I wanted to give you everything my parents couldn’t afford, treated you like a princess. No wonder you chose a pure-blood prince.” She crumpled the letter in a fist. How could she have been so blind? Lily wasn’t the girl Ginny had been at twenty-one. She wasn’t consumed with proving herself, determined to shine in her own spotlight instead of basking in Harry’s.

 

Ginny smoothed out the parchment. “I thought we were teaching you a lesson, allowing you to work as Malfoy’s personal assistant.” She traced the elegant curves of the word “Mum” with a fingertip. “Isolated manor, no shops, having to work instead of party every night.” She gave a small, bitter laugh. “I would’ve hated the job and loathed _him_ , the privileged git.”

 

Schoolgirl memories of Draco Malfoy sneering at her, his nasty remarks about her family’s poverty, about her mum, and everything he’d said and done to Harry flashed through Ginny’s mind. She didn’t care that he’d changed since Hogwarts, that he’d suffered and lost people he’d loved, or that he’d raised Scorpius to be a good person.

 

 _“He doesn’t deserve you!”_ Shouting the words didn’t lessen her anger. She ripped the letter into shreds while calling Malfoy every foul name her brothers and former Harpies teammates had ever taught her.

 

“Mistress Ginny?”

 

Kreacher stood near the door—ready to make his escape if she displaced her wrath on him, no doubt. She glanced at the bedside clock. Harry had gone to the Ministry and wouldn’t be home for another half-hour. “Do you need help making dinner?” She was a decent cook, but mostly Kreacher had her chop onions. His eyes were watery enough without onions stimulating his overactive lachrymal glands further.

 

He shook his head. “Miss Lily sends a letter?”

 

Ginny pointed to the scraps on the floor. “Sorry. There was a postscript for you. I meant to let you read it.” She clenched her jaw. “Lily threatened to elope to Las Vegas if I hunted her and Malfoy down and—” She pressed her lips together and took deep breaths to control her emotions. If jealousy was Harry’s internal dragon, hers was protectiveness. She wanted to burn Malfoy Manor to the ground and stomp on its ashes. If she got her talons on Malfoy, she’d gut the cradle-snatching bastard.

 

_“Elope?”_

 

Kreacher’s shock made her feel a little better. She wasn’t the last one to know. “She claims to be in love with Draco Malfoy, and they’ll go get married by Elvis if I track them to France.”

 

“ _The_ Elvis?”

 

She blinked in surprise. How did he know about an American wizard who had made his fortune as a Muggle entertainer? 

 

Kreacher said, “Mr. and Mrs. Weasley played ray-cords for Miss Lily on an enchanted player for music appreciation.”

 

He had home-schooled the children before they went to Hogwarts, and her parents had been eager to help. Ginny ignored the familiar shiver that went down her spine. The old house-elf was eerily good at reading facial expressions. “No, they’d be married by an Elvis impersonator wearing a sparkly jumpsuit.” Saying the words out loud created a mental image that had her groaning. “I can’t believe she’d do it.” Lily was too stylish, too concerned with appearances, and Malfoy was every bit as vain—he’d fixed his receding hairline, hadn’t he? 

 

“ _Reparo!_ ” Ginny’s Mending Charm brought together all the torn pieces of Lily’s letter. She read it again and then handed the parchment to Kreacher. “She isn’t dragging Malfoy to Las Vegas. It’s an empty threat—one I would’ve fallen for if it wasn’t for you.”

 

He pointed to the postscript.

 

_Tell Kreacher that I may not have family at my wedding, but he’ll be there in my thoughts._

 

“I’ve played enough poker to know that to sell a bluff you have to make the other players think you’re not bluffing. That note to you stopped me from questioning whether they’d really elope to Las Vegas.” She laughed a little in relief. Since Lily and Malfoy weren’t eloping, Ginny had time to pack, owl her assistant sports editor at the _Daily Prophet_ to tell Thora she’d be out of the office tomorrow, and then get a few hours’ sleep.

 

 

 

“I should come with you,” Harry said when they were panting side by side after making love. They held hands as their racing hearts began to slow and a magical breeze cooled heated skin.

 

Ginny heard the reluctant determination in his voice. He didn’t want to go, disliked family rows as much as she detested frilly pink dresses, but he’d do it for her.

 

“I love your smile,” he said.

 

She loved it when he put on his glasses during sex because he wanted to see every part of her body. Her smile widened. “You should. You put it on my face.” Ginny was the mother of three grown children, but Harry still made her feel like the schoolgirl who had almost burst with joy when he’d kissed her. “I adore you for wanting to support me, but Lily and I need to have a private mother/daughter talk.” She rolled over and kissed Harry to keep him from trying to talk her round.

 

“You need your sleep,” he protested half-heartedly when she trailed kisses along his jaw and down his throat.

 

Ginny’s husky laugh vibrated against his skin. “After I demonstrate my adoration.”

 

 

 

She awoke to the enticing smell of grilled bacon. They knew her too well. She hadn’t planned on eating, but she couldn’t turn down one of Kreacher’s English breakfasts. Ginny hurried to shower and dress.

 

Harry was setting the table when she entered the kitchen. For a moment, the bright, modernised space became a dank basement with an old-fashioned enchanted cooker. She could picture her mum fussing at Fred and George over some prank that had Sirius roaring with laughter and Harry looking toward Ginny with the smile that had stolen her heart. Other memories came to mind: the ones they’d made with their children.

 

“Are you all right, love?”

 

Ginny nodded and moved forward. “I was thinking I’m glad we kept the table when we renovated the kitchen. It brings back so many memories.” Merlin, her eyes were misting. “And it’s, uh, well-made.”

 

Harry’s lips twitched. “Very sturdy.”

 

Was he referring to the times they’d had sex on it? She shrugged to hide her own amusement. “Years ago, perhaps.” Before their children started sneaking down for midnight snacks, and before Kreacher started having trouble sleeping through the night.

 

“Are you suggesting we retest it?”

 

She appreciated the lusty gleam in his eyes. Sex wasn’t an all-purpose panacea, but it was a lovely distraction.  Ginny winked. “Right now, I want bacon.”

 

Harry chuckled, and they spoke about light topics while they ate. They’d agreed while they were still dating that meals should be times to enjoy being together, not an opportunity to vent frustrations and problems. Kreacher sat next to Ginny.

 

“Mistress wears interview clothes.”

 

She’d chosen the white buttoned shirt with three-quarter sleeves, denim trousers and black ankle boots because it was an outfit Lily had picked out for her. She’d left her shoulder length hair down.

 

“Approachable, yet kick-arse,” Harry said. “The old Draco would quiver in fear.”

 

His tone was almost wistful. Could Malfoy really have changed that much? “I’ll give him reason to be afraid if he tries to keep me from my daughter.” She could still cast a Bat Bogey Hex faster than most wizards could put up a Shield Charm.

 

“He won’t.” Now Harry sounded apologetic.

 

 _Sorry, love. He won’t give you an excuse to do bodily harm?_ Ginny set down her fork, appetite gone. “Now you’re defending him?”

 

“Never.”

 

“But you think I’m wasting my time going to France.”

 

Harry didn’t answer for a few moments, and then he asked, “Would you have listened to anyone who told you not to be with me?”

 

Ginny suppressed the urge to snap, “Of course not” and said, “My family loved you.”

 

“And if they hadn’t?”

 

“You can’t compare the situations. They’re nothing alike.” If kissing each other hello and goodbye hadn’t been one of their personal wedding vows, she might’ve stalked out of the kitchen. Instead, Ginny marched around the table and gave Harry a kiss. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt him . . . much.”

 

He smiled a little, but his eyes were sombre. “I’ll walk you out.”

 

_Husband code: I want to tell you something in private._

 

Ginny said goodbye to Kreacher and went upstairs. In the entry hall, she turned to face Harry.  “Fine. I won’t hurt Malfoy at all.” Sleeping Charms didn’t harm anyone. Body-Bind Curses didn’t technically hurt either.

 

“I’m worried for you.” She was about to wave away his concern when Harry added, “That Lily will hurt your feelings.”

 

_There’s a reason Kreacher’s my favourite parent . . . you never want me to have fun . . . why can’t you be a friend instead of a mum all the time?_

“I’ll be fine,” Ginny said. “I’m tough.” No matter what her daughter said to her, she could take it. They always made up in the end.

 

Harry pulled her close. “Whatever happens, we’ll be OK.”

 

Damn it, her eyes were tearing up again. She was going to talk sense into their daughter, not going off to war. Ginny’s nod was one of agreement and determination. “Wish me luck.”

 

Harry handed her a cellophane bag containing the Portkey, an origami star made out of newspaper: the sports page by her name printed on one of the five sides. “I think you have a fan in the Portkey office,” he said dryly.

 

“Too bad I only have eyes for my husband.” Ginny’s attempt at a smile was crooked, but Harry’s eyes crinkled, and the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement, exactly what she wanted. She couldn’t take doom and gloom. She needed to leave on a positive note. She kissed him for luck and opened the front door. “See you later, love.”

 

 

The Portkey activated when she reached into the cellophane bag to touch the origami star. The sensation of being yanked by her middle and magically transported from one location to another didn’t make Ginny feel nauseous. She raised her arms like a Muggle on a rollercoaster ride and laughed giddily when she reached her destination. Once she’d stifled her giggles and regained her composure, she tucked the cellophane bag holding the Portkey into a pocket while she glanced around to ensure no one had seen her appear out of nowhere. The picturesque cobblestone street was deserted. At the end stood Malfoy’s villa, its towering, half-timbered edifice flanked by stone privacy walls.

 

Ginny glanced at her watch: a few minutes after eight—nine AM in Colmar, France. Someone in the house should be up. She squared her shoulders and approached the imposing front door. Malfoy couldn’t be _normal_ and stay in a hotel. He had to show off his wealth find a medieval villa to let. She scoffed at the modern doorbell and rapped the heavy knocker against the iron strike plate.  Deep, magic-amplified clangs reverberated through the door into the villa: much more satisfying than a chime.

 

After a few minutes, the door opened. Albus, wearing green swim trunks, scratched his bare chest and said, “Good timing, Mum. We’re about to have breakfast by the pool.” He looked over her shoulder.

 

“I came alone. Why are you still here?” Albus, Scorpius, and Rose had travelled to Colmar to warn Lily and Malfoy that Harry was on his way there. They should’ve returned to London the night before. “There has to be a death in the family for a junior Auror to get multiple days of unscheduled leave.”

 

Albus shrugged. “My last name’s Potter.”

 

Ginny shook her head, annoyed with herself more than her son or the Ministry employees who gave special treatment to anyone named Potter or Weasley. She’d given Albus the opportunity to dodge answering her question.  After a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, she walked past him into the spacious foyer. “And you spent the night here because . . .?”

 

“We couldn’t pass up a free holiday?” Albus grinned at her steely look. “All right, I’ll confess. I knew you’d show up, and I wanted us to spend some quality time together.” He dropped the cheeky tone. “I really have missed our breakfasts.”

 

“Me too.” While Lily had always been a daddy’s girl, Albus was a mummy’s boy. Sensitive and moody, he’d clung to Ginny long after James started making faces and wiping his cheek if she kissed him at any other moment than bedtime. Albus looked so much like Harry, but his personality aligned more with hers. She’d experienced the same kind of insecurities he had when he was younger; Ginny had just hidden hers beneath a façade of confidence. She said, “If you slept in your room at home more often—”

 

“Aw, Mum.” He draped his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t scold me. I saved you the crispiest rashers of bacon.”

 

She let him steer her toward a doorway leading to a kitchen some designer had probably called noblesse gourmet. The combination of antique furniture, marble worktops and hand-painted tiles was dauntingly beautiful. How did anyone get up the nerve to cook there? “I don’t smell bacon.”

 

“Scorpius used the outdoor kitchen.”

 

 _Of course there’s an outdoor kitchen. Cooking inside in summer is déclassé._ Ginny bit back the snarky comments.   

 

Outside, beneath a grapevine-shaded pergola, Rose and Scorpius sat at a rustic table overlooking a pool with a waterfall feature. Ginny noticed there were seven place settings.

 

“We thought you’d tell my mum and dad and we’d have four guests for breakfast,” Rose said.

 

Ginny gave Albus a speaking look. _Quality time my arse._

 

He smiled sheepishly. “More bacon for you now, Mum.” He pulled out a chair. “Have a seat.”

 

She didn’t move. If they’d expected four guests there should have been nine place settings, not seven. Ginny stood frozen by the certainty that Lily and Malfoy had fled the villa. “Where are they?” she managed to whisper. Her gaze flickered between Albus, Rose, and Scorpius.

 

The trio exchanged glances, communicating wordlessly the way Harry, Hermione and Ron used to do. The same feeling of being left out of the inner circle welled up, but unlike the schoolgirl she’d been, Ginny refused to suffer in silence. “I’ll cast a Tracking Spell and find them myself.” She turned to go inside.

 

Albus blocked her. “Mum, sit down. We’ll tell you where they went.”

 

“Yes, please, Aunt Ginny,” Rose said.

 

“Would—would you care for juice or tea?” Scorpius asked.

 

Ginny silently cast a spell to fill the glass closest to her with water and seated herself. She caught her son giving his best mate an apologetic look. “It isn’t just Scorpius I don’t trust,” she said.

 

Albus gaped at her. “What would we put in your drink? Poison?”

 

“Sleeping potion,” Scorpius said. “By the time we finished telling her where Lily and Dad went, it would’ve taken effect, and then she wouldn’t be able to catch them.” He seemed pleased with himself for deducing her suspicion.

 

Ginny said, “Exactly like ‘Lucky’ Lucius Severus did to the centurion.”

 

Instead of being insulted by the suggestion that he’d imitate the action of his protagonist character, Scorpius’s face lit up. “You read my novel! Did you like it?”

 

“More than your Gobstones guide.”

 

“She’s read both of them!” Scorpius told Rose. “Double wow.”

 

“Wow indeed,” Rose said with a smile.

 

“Yeah, Mum,” Albus said. “You never told us you read Scorpius’s books.”

 

Ginny arched an eyebrow. “You’re chiding _me_ about keeping secrets?”

 

Her son had the grace to redden.

 

“They went to Paris,” Rose said. “By now they’re meeting with a journalist from _Witch Weekly_ to give an interview about their relationship.”

 

Three sets of eyes gazed at Ginny warily as if expecting her to—as the kids would say—lose her shit.  Scorpius leaned toward Rose, clearly intending to shield her from hexes with his body. Albus sat tensed, as if ready to draw his wand and cast a Disarming Charm or counter curse. Ginny couldn’t help it. She laughed.

 

“ _Mum?_ ”

 

Albus sounded nervous. Did he think she’d flipped her cauldron? Ginny said, “That’s as ridiculous as Lily’s threat to elope to Las Vegas.”

 

“No, it isn’t.” Albus’s lower lip pouted.

 

Ginny fought the urge to tap it with a finger the way she had when he was a toddler. She patted his arm instead. “Sorry, sweetie. Was it your idea?”

 

“The three of us came up with it together,” Rose said staunchly. She lifted her chin. “The family will have to accept that Lily and Draco are a couple when they’re on the cover of _Witch Weekly_. The entire wizarding world will have read about it. You can’t make it go away.”

 

Scorpius said, “I know you don’t like my dad, but he really loves Lily. He’d do anything for her.”

 

Ginny groaned inwardly. Stars, it was easy to imagine the trio laying out their idea for the runaway couple, earnestly persuading them. Malfoy doted on his son. Lily, gallingly, doted on Malfoy. They wouldn’t be able to say no.

 

But that didn’t mean they were in Paris.

 

She shook her head at Scorpius. “And you believe they actually went through with it?” She couldn’t hide her exasperation. “How could you? You’re a writer!”

 

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Albus demanded.

 

A glimmer of unease darkened Scorpius’s eyes. It wasn’t enough. Ginny said, “I took writing courses for my job, and the instructor taught the basics of fiction as well as technical writing. I know what happens when an author tries to make protagonists act out of character.” _They take off in a different direction._ She stood. “Enjoy your meal. I’ll see myself out.” _Eventually._

 

“Wait!” Albus shot to his feet.

 

“I’ll leave the explanations to Scorpius.” Ginny gave in to motherly impulse and smoothed back his inky hair. Once she shut the French doors, she cast a Muffling Charm, hurried through the kitchen and foyer and then raced up the grand staircase. Thanks to home gym equipment and regular workouts, she was huffing only a little when she reached the bedroom floor. The master suite would be farthest away from the stairs. She jogged down the corridor.

 

Double doors, of course, and the suite was gorgeous. Only the best would do for a Malfoy. “Yes, I sound like a reverse-snob. Bugger off, conscience. Sarcasm is my coping tool,” Ginny muttered. She averted her eyes from the king-sized bed and checked the room for a personal object left behind. Nothing. She went into the ensuite bath. A used towel could work, but the thought of Lily and Malfoy showering together threatened to make her eyes bleed.  She turned on her heel and returned to the bedroom to search the corner desk. Lily had written her a letter on villa stationery. She’d probably used the inkpot and quill provided as well.

 

“ _Et voila_ ,” Ginny murmured, picking up the quill by the tip of the feather. She carried it and a piece of parchment to the nearest window. The last time she’d cast a Tracking Spell had been the summer between Lily’s sixth and seventh year at Hogwarts. Harry had been out of town, and Lily hadn’t come home by midnight, so Ginny had cast a spell to find her. Learning handy spells was one of the perks of being an Auror’s wife. She’d written down the address that appeared, hopped into a Squire Cab and arrived at a wild house party in time to drag Lily out before Magical Law Enforcement arrived.

 

_Vester Farimagsgade 3, 1606 København V, Denmark_

 

The letters glowed green on the windowpane. Ginny wrote the address down, torn between relief that her daughter and Malfoy weren’t in Paris or Las Vegas and uneasiness. Why the hell were they in Denmark?

 

She went downstairs and joined the glum-looking trio picking at their breakfasts. Scorpius saw her first. He gulped in surprise while drinking orange juice and started coughing. Rose patted him on the back while Albus yelped, “Mum! You said you were leaving!”

 

Ginny sat down. “I told you I’d see myself out. I took a detour.” She handed Scorpius the parchment. “Do you recognise this address?”

 

He read it aloud and shook his head.

 

Rose frowned. “You cast a Tracking Spell.”

 

“Mum’s ace at those,” Albus said.

 

“Thanks to my children.” Ginny angled her chair so she could see all three of them at once. “Lily and Malfoy are in Copenhagen, not Paris. Is it the home town of a famous alchemist?” Writing a book on alchemist Animagi was the reason they’d travelled to France. Lily was drawing the illustrations for Malfoy’s text.

 

“It must be,” Scorpius said. “Or they visited there.”

 

Rose nodded. “If they didn’t want to do the interview, but wanted to be—” she paused as if deliberating the right phrasing and said, “out of the public eye, they’d go somewhere no one would recognise them.”

 

 “Somewhere I’d have a tough time following.” Ginny admired Lily’s cleverness, if not her life choices. She saw the questioning faces watching her and told the trio, “No. I won’t track her down.” She’d let her daughter go, and when Lily finally saw through Malfoy and came home, Ginny and Harry would be there for her to help Lily get over her disillusionment and heartache.

 

And then Ginny would find a way to make Malfoy pay for hurting her daughter.

 

“Mum, your smile is alarming,” Albus said.

 

“Inspiring,” Scorpius murmured. He blushed when she lifted an eyebrow. “You’d make an amazing antagonist.”

 

“A woman capable of almost anything when it comes to protecting her family?” She meant it, and if he had any sense he’d be scared for his father.

 

Scorpius’s gaze turned almost dreamy. “Yeah.”

 

Rose shook her head. “Merlin, Aunt Ginny, now he’ll want to stay an extra day to write a character bio.”

 

“No, I’ll jot down a few notes while you two have a swim,” Scorpius said. He reached for the quill and parchment Ginny had brought downstairs. “You don’t mind, do you?”

 

Whether he meant taking the writing supplies or using her to create a fictional villain, Ginny said, “Not at all.”

 

“Brilliant.” He started writing.

 

Ginny made to leave for the second time.

 

Scorpius glanced up. “If you had an Animagus form, what would it be?”

 

She didn’t have to think about it. “A dragon.”

 

“Aw, Mum.” Albus trailed after her as she walked through the kitchen toward the foyer. “You want to protect Lily. So did I. But she doesn’t need it. Draco’s mad for her, and she—she loves him too.”

 

Ginny came to a halt by the front door. “Does she? Or is he the ultimate rebellion against her family?”

 

“What? No,” Albus said. “I’ve spent time with them. It isn’t like that. It’s real.” Albus gave her a sympathetic look. “I know the uncles and Granny Weasley are going to have kittens when they find out, but nothing they say or do is going to change anything.”

 

Meaning nothing _she_ could say or do would get through Lily’s stubborn head.

 

Ginny kissed his cheek and opened the door. “We’ll see.”

 

 

 

 

She could’ve gone into the office. It was still early; she’d save a day of leave. Instead, she went home to send Harry an owl and give Kreacher the same update on Lily’s current whereabouts before heading to the nearest Floo station. Once she stepped out of the wizard pub in Ottery St. Catchpole, she Apparated to the paddock just outside the Anti-Apparation boundary wards that protected the Burrow. The grass in the paddock was tidily cut instead of overgrown and dotted with wildflowers. That meant one thing: family picnic and Quidditch match at the weekend.

 

Where everyone would ask about Lily.

 

“Ginny!”

 

She turned to see her father striding towards her, khaki sun hat tilted at a jaunty angle, hiking stave tucked under an arm. He looked fit and tanned. “Hi, Dad,” she said when he drew closer. “When did you become a rambler?”

 

“Since the Healer told me I was pre-diabetic,” Arthur replied after a hug. His eyes twinkled. “I have to stay healthy so I can play with my great-grandkids when they come along.”

 

 _Great-grandkids?_ Her stomach churned at the thought of her daughter having Malfoy’s baby. Ginny pressed a hand to her middle. She would not vomit. Lily took birth control potion; they’d had a frank discussion about it when Lily started getting serious with Lorcan Scamander after the pair left Hogwarts.

 

“Are you feeling all right?”

 

The concern in his voice snapped Ginny out of her panic. “Something I ate disagreed with me,” she said, trying to smile. “Nothing a cup of tea won’t settle.” She hooked her arm through his. “Don’t tell Mum. She’d accuse Kreacher of trying to poison me.”

 

Arthur sighed. “She’s never been able to shake the worry that he’ll betray your family the way he betrayed Sirius.”

 

“He wouldn’t do that. Kreacher’s changed so much—” Ginny broke off, bitterly aware that the same was said about Malfoy.

 

“I know, dear.” He patted her hand.

 

They ambled toward the crooked, higgledy-piggledy house that evoked bittersweet pangs in her heart every time she visited. Her eyes were always drawn to Fred and George’s window. The summer she’d attempted to run away, they’d seen her stomping across the back garden with her rucksack and thrown up the sash to call out to her.

 

_Are you running off to have an adventure? We’ll join you!_

They’d jollied her into foraging for blackberries, swimming in a neighbour’s pond and using the food she’d stuffed in the rucksack for a picnic. Fred and George had also managed to transform her humiliation, anger and despair over Harry’s reaction to her Valentine, Hogwarts schoolmates’ taunting, and their mum’s incessant scolding over Tom Riddle’s diary into a mix of emotions she could handle: wry humour and resolve. They’d promised to distract Mum from rehashing the past and vowed to devise ways to repay those who mocked her at school. “You’re my favourite brothers,” she’d cried. “Forever and ever.”

 

What would Fred say about Lily’s relationship with Draco Malfoy?

 

_I’d say Malfoy needs another beating._

In her imagination, Fred grinned and slapped his fist against his palm—and he was still twenty years old. Ginny smiled even as she widened her eyes to hold back tears. Merlin, she had to get herself together. Bloody hormones. She’d read that once a witch passed forty she could experience mood swings, but this was ridiculous. What was next? Hot flashes?

 

“If you’re sniffling, you need a Pepper-Up Potion,” Arthur said.

 

“A dram of Firewhisky in my tea would do me better.” She shook her head at his alarmed expression. “I didn’t get fired for a blunt editorial piece, and Harry and I are fine—more than fine, actually.” Along with the hormone swings of a teenager came a revved-up libido. Their sex life was hotter than ever, and they were having more date nights, holding hands and snogging. “I dropped by to talk to you and Mum about Lily. She’s all right,” Ginny hastily added. “We’d hear Mum screeching if she wasn’t.”

 

He nodded. “The family clock is her comfort.”

 

“And her way of knowing what everyone’s up to,” she said lightly, thinking the magical clock wasn’t infallible; it had showed Lily continually travelling instead of at work during her time at Malfoy Manor. At the time, Ginny had been grateful that no one knew where Lily really was. Now, she wished the damned clock had swung to Mortal Peril. She pointed at a group of trees along the edge of the back garden. “Are you growing apples now?”

 

“I thought I’d try my hand at making cider.” Her dad told her all about traditional apple varieties originating in Devon. He’d retired as the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office, but was ill-suited to rest and relaxation. He needed multiple hobbies to keep busy.

 

“When we attended the Honiton Sausage and Cider Festival, I was quite taken with the idea of making my own cider.”

 

The back door opened. “You settled on cider after I put my foot down on your scheme to raise pigs to make sausage!” Molly said in a tone of affectionate exasperation. Snapping brown eyes fixed on Ginny and widened. “Hello, dear. Is everything all right?”

 

“Yes, Mum. Can’t I take a day off now and then without raising alarms?” Ginny gave her a hug and went into the kitchen. Most of the time, the familiar homey room gave her a sense of peace and comfort. She sat at the table and sighed.  “I’d kill for something chocolate and a sugary cup of tea.”

 

Molly’s sharply indrawn breath revealed her shock. She might as well have said, “My health nut daughter wants _white death_ in her tea?”

 

“It’s been years since my sugar-free phase,” Ginny grumbled. Would no one let her forget it? “It’s fine in moderation.”

 

I’ll get the Firewhisky,” Arthur said, heading for the drinks cupboard in the lounge.

 

“Chocolate, sugary tea, and Firewhisky raise alarms, Ginevra Molly Weasley Potter.” Molly propped hands on ample hips. “Loud alarms.”

 

“Here we are.” Her dad placed a bottle of Ogden’s Finest on the table. He took in her mum’s narrowed gaze and said, “I’ll put on the kettle.” He gave Ginny a rueful smile. “We don’t have any chocolate, I’m afraid.”

 

“Emergency kit in the cupboard beneath the sink,” Molly said. She sat down across from Ginny. “What’s wrong?”

 

Ginny shook her head. How could she tell her parents that their darling Lily was having an affair with Scorpius’s father? The news would upset them worse than it had her. Draco Malfoy had been a Death Eater. Death Eaters killed Fred. She eyed the Firewhisky bottle.

 

A floral teacup on a dainty saucer appeared in front of her. The cup was half-full. Ginny reached for the Firewhisky, filled the cup to the brim, and took a large gulp. “Thanks, Daddy,” she said as liquid courage warmed her insides.

 

He sat next to her mum and handed Ginny a bar of dark chocolate.

 

She tore through paper and foil to reach bittersweet deliciousness. After three bites, she felt calm enough to say, “Lily went to France, then Denmark.” Ginny drank the rest of her tea. “She’s travelling with a . . . companion.”

Her parents stared expectantly. She grimly supressed the urge to grab the Firewhisky and drink straight from the bottle. “A . . .” Merlin, it hurt to say, “A romantic partner. A man.”

 

“Muggle?” her dad asked.

 

Ginny shook her head. “Wizard.”

 

Her mum clutched her heart, face etched with dread. “French?”

 

Once Fleur became part of the family, Molly had decided that her daughter-in-law’s earlier Phlegm status was a side-effect of her nationality negated by her marriage to Bill. “No, he’s English.” Ginny released a steadying breath and said, “He’s older than she is. Much older.” She ate more chocolate to keep her mouth too busy to say his name. Did it matter? Surely, the two would break up once their affair ran its course. Despite Albus’s claims, Lily and Malfoy couldn’t _really_ have fallen in love. It was a Romeo and Juliet/forbidden fruit relationship. Once the excitement of defying the world and running away together died down, they’d realise that their age difference was too much and decide to part.

 

_Wouldn’t they?_

 

Arthur cleared his throat. “It isn’t Neville, is it?”

 

Molly gasped. “Arthur! How could you suggest such a thing? He’s married!”

 

“I heard them rowing about Lily a few years ago,” her dad said in a reluctant tone. “Hannah was jealous over Lily’s, erm, friendliness.” His face flushed with embarrassment. “Neville said she’s a mature girl who gets along with older people, and Hannah seemed to accept it, but they’ve only attended a couple of family parties since.”

 

“It isn’t Neville,” Ginny said. “The man isn’t a family friend.” She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, I can’t talk about it. It’s too upsetting. I just wanted you to know.” She stood. “Thanks for the tea and chocolate.”

 

Her mum stopped her at the door, engulfing her in a hug. “Try not to fret too much over Lily, dear. Young people are more casual about relationships than we were. You may never meet this older man. He could be a holiday romance, nothing more.”

 

Ginny nodded, although she wasn’t comforted. Lily wasn’t casual about romance. Lorcan Scamander had been her one serious boyfriend, and Malfoy had been a hermit at Malfoy Manor since his wife died.

 

Instead of returning to London, Ginny Flooed to Puddlemere. James had an evening match, so she’d be able to catch him at his flat. She took the stairs when she entered his building to work off some of her nerves. Her oldest son had Muggle-duelled a teammate for trying to put the moves on his baby sister at after-party. How would he react to the news that Lily was in a relationship with a man twice her age?

 

Michael Finney, Puddlemere United’s reserve Seeker, answered the door. To afford the mortgage on a two-bedroom flat with views of the River Piddle and still have Galleons to spend, James had a succession of flatmates to offset expenses. Michael was the latest, recently traded to PU by the Ballycastle Bats.  Slightly built, with mousey brown hair, he reminded her of Colin Creevey.

 

“Hullo!” he said, raising his voice to call out, “James! Guess what? Your mum’s here!”

 

_“What?”_

 

Michael gave Ginny a beaming smile. “It’s an honour to meet you. I used to be the biggest Harpies fan.”

 

“Thank you.” Since he appeared happy to block the doorway indefinitely, Ginny asked, “May I come in?”

 

“Of course!” He backed up so rapidly he bumped into the entry table and sent a stack of owl post tumbling to the floor. Two spots of colour appeared on his cheeks as he knelt to pick up envelopes.

 

Ginny bent down to help him. “Looks like fan mail.” She couldn’t resist teasing, “Yours?”

 

Michael’s ears turned red. “N-no.”

 

“Mum, stop seducing my flatmate and give me a hug.”

 

She grinned as James picked her up and spun her around. Tall and muscular, he had the build of Bill or Ron, but his incessant teasing came straight from Fred and George. She ruffled his mop of brown hair and smiled into eyes as dark as her own. “I couldn’t help it. Michael’s a Harpies fan.”

 

“Him and every other bloke who bought that poster of you in a swimsuit back in the day.” James pretended to scowl even while his gaze sparkled with humour. “Didn’t you know you’d marry Dad and have kids? Mums aren’t supposed to be fanciable.”

 

“It was for charity.” Bantering with her irrepressible son always lightened her spirits.

 

“Yeah, well, don’t let Mikey-boy talk you into signing his copy. It’s probably hanging on his bedroom wall.”

 

Michael wilted under James’s mock-glower. “No, it’s rolled up in a proper storage tube.”

 

“It better stay sealed up while you live in this flat,” James said in a menacing tone.

 

Ginny shook her head and made her way to the terrace off the lounge. It was barely wide enough for a small table and four chairs, but the river view was stunning. There was something peaceful about watching sunlight sparkle on the water. She hoped it would help keep James calm when she told him about Lily.

 

“Here. Try my protein shake.” James placed two glasses filled with purple liquid on the table. “It’s got spinach, four types of berries, a banana and Greek Yoghurt.”

 

She took a sip. “It’s good.”

 

“I put a little honey in,” he admitted.

 

“What is this, make Ginny feel like the food police day? I’m not against sugar in moderation!”

 

James wasn’t fazed by her outburst. He asked, “Who else made you feel like the food police?”

 

“Your grandmother.”

 

“You visited the Burrow?” When James narrowed his eyes, he reminded her of his granny. “To make an announcement?”

 

That was one way to put it. “To tell them something, yes.”

 

“I’m going to get a baby brother or sister, aren’t I?” James put up a hand when she opened her mouth. “My mates plastered the _Intruder_ article about you and dad all over my locker two months ago.” He grimaced. “Photos and the headline _Second Honeymoon_ said it all.”

 

She and Harry had spent a weekend in Paris and hadn’t thought anyone would notice their public displays of affection. It was the city of love, after all. “I’m not pregnant.”

 

James grinned. “Ace! Now I can go back to thinking you and dad never have sex.”

 

Ginny said dryly, “You’re such an innocent, darling boy.”

 

“And you’re the best mum in the whole wide world.” He winked. “Joking, not joking.”

 

He was sweet in his mischievous way. She wished she’d visited only to spend time with him. “I came here to tell you about Lily.”

 

“ _She’s_ preggo?”

 

“No!” Ginny smacked James’s arm. “Stop jumping to that conclusion or I’ll start wondering if there’s a model somewhere who claims you’re her baby daddy.”

 

“I wish.” James held up his hands to ward her off when she reached out to playfully swat him again. “I’ve been training so hard I rarely get to chat up anyone.” His lips twitched. “When I do, I’m haunted by your immortal words: don’t have sex with anyone you wouldn’t want to be the mother of your child. Really limits my options.” He smirked. “If I’m sober.”

 

She smiled instead of laughing as she normally would. James frowned. “Is Lily in trouble? You said she wasn’t in rehab when the gossip mags printed those rumours.”

 

“She isn’t,” Ginny said. “She’s with a man your father and I don’t approve of.” There. She’d said it. Sort of.

 

“A Muggle?”

 

First her father, now her son. Why did they think she would care if the man was Muggle? “I wish,” she said, using James’s comeback with a harder inflection. “He’s a wizard who’s too damned old for her.”

 

“Better an older wizard than an ancient house-elf. I used to say she’d grow up and marry Kreacher.”

 

Ginny shot him a “not funny, James Sirius” look before gazing out at the River Piddle. The gentle currents didn’t lull her into tranquillity. If she could transform into a dragon, she’d whip the water into a churning froth with her beating wings and shoot flame into the sky.

 

“Is the story going to hit the papers?” James asked. “Is that why you’re telling me about Lily’s bloke?”

 

Ginny propped her elbows on the patio table and dropped her head into her hands. “I don’t know.”

 

James rubbed her back. “What’s the bloke’s name?”

 

“Cradle-snatching bastard.”

 

“Catchy.” He tugged a strand of her hair. “I have to be at the stadium in an hour. Come with me. Coach Wood will be chuffed to bits. You can hang with the team until the match starts, and coach might let you shoot the first Quaffle in warmups.”

 

She loved watching James play. The chance to fly on a professional pitch again was a bonus. Ginny straightened. “I’ll owl your father.”

 

 

Spending time with James, Oliver and the team was just what she needed to take her mind off Lily. Some of the players asked if she was there to write an article, which sparked an idea for a sports human interest story for the _Sunday Prophet_ : Former professional Quidditch players spending the day with the team of the son or daughter currently playing Quidditch. How have things changed and/or remained the same? The PU photographer was happy to take pictures of her and James. 

 

“Oliver was equally thrilled, of course,” Ginny told Harry as they sat in the section reserved for the family and friends of PU players and coaching staff. There were some new faces, but she had met and chatted with most over the last six seasons. Alicia Spinnet Wood, who as usual wore a mix of Gryffindor scarlet and Puddlemere blue, sat to her left while Harry sat to her right.

 

“If we weren’t playing the Cannons, I’m sure he would’ve kicked you out for distracting the team,” Alicia said over the roar of the crowd.  She leaned across Ginny to shout to Harry, “Ollie told me the boys voted her Sexiest Mum. They’ll try to get on with her if you leave her alone at the after-party.”

 

Ginny shook her head over Alicia’s silliness. “Right. Who fancies someone twice their—” The last word got stuck in her throat when her eyes met Harry’s. 

 

They both knew who: Lily.

 

“Age is only a number,” Alicia said with a grin.

 

Ginny shot back, “And jail is only a room.”

 

Alicia smirked. “They’re all legal age, Sexy Mum.”

 

She responded with an eyeroll, asking Harry, “Want to go get a beer?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Me too,” Alicia said. “Crazy how they let you drink alcohol on the concourse, but you can’t take it back to your seat.”

 

As they made their way up the steps to the concourse level, a chorus of boos sounded. Ginny glanced back at the pitch.

 

“Cobbing!” Alicia yelled with the other Puddlemere United fans. “Watch those elbows, Cannon Fodder!”

 

“That’s a new one,” Harry said in Ginny’s ear.

 

She smirked. “Better than the F-word Alicia used last time the teams played.”

 

They spent the time it took to finish a beer taking the piss out of Alicia for being an example of why fans shouldn’t be allowed to drink alcohol in the stands. Supporters of both teams milled around, buying food and drinks at the kiosks or chatting in small groups. It was second nature for Ginny to laugh and chat with Alicia and Harry while keeping an eye on those around them. She knew he did the same. Harry Potter would always be the target of Dark wizards. Some sports readers might not appreciate her candid editorials, but they rarely tried to assault her in public over them.

 

“The witch with hair dyed to match her Cannons t-shirt seems dodgy. Give her the old Bat-Bogey, Gin,” Alicia said. “Quick! Before she curses our hair orange!”

 

“Loony,” Ginny said with a smile as Harry chuckled.

 

 Any Quidditch match was enjoyable to watch, but watching James made it exciting. His flying was a combination of skill and style. He made every goal scored so riveting, Ginny understood why Reid “Rocket” Rickett, the PU Seeker, accused James of being a show-off. More often than not, the fans were watching James when Rocket caught the Snitch. The same thing had happened when James had played for Gryffindor and Rocket for Slytherin House.

 

At the after-party, Ginny left Harry and Oliver analysing the match to approach the brooding PU Seeker drinking Firewhisky alone at the bar. “I’ll have what he’s having,” she told the barman. Once seated, she turned to Rocket. “Your father was a Beater on the Hufflepuff team when I was at Hogwarts.”

 

“So I’ve heard . . . about a million times.”

 

Ginny bit her lip to hide her amusement. Typical Slytherin, brooding and snarky. Where were his groupies? Didn’t girls love the challenge of a boy like this? “Is he here tonight?” She didn’t remember seeing Anthony in the stands. She thanked the barman when he delivered her drink.

 

Rocket regarded her suspiciously from beneath his swoop of dark fringe. “What’s it to you?”

 

“I’m doing an article about former Quidditch players spending the day with the team of their daughter or son’s pro team. Do you think he’d be interested? Be good press for you.”

 

“Because I _need_ it?” His lip curled.

 

Ginny shot back her drink and told him what he really needed: a change in his flying style. Speed wasn’t everything. If he wanted to give James competition as fan favourite, he needed to take a page out of his teammate’s handbook and give the crowd reasons not to look away. Rocket tried to argue, but she had the combined knowledge of all her years as a sports journalist as well as her experience as a Harpies player. She talked him around to her way of thinking until he was coming up with his own ideas, eyes bright with enthusiasm.

 

“Rocket, your date’s here. Stop hitting on my mum.” James arched an eyebrow when his teammate muttered his thanks, gave Ginny a shy grin and said goodbye. Her son plopped down on the abandoned seat and raised both brows. “Did you slip something into his drink? That’s not the Rocket I know and barely tolerate.”

 

She blew on the back of her knuckles and rubbed them against her shirt in self-congratulation.  “I give life-changing advice.”

 

“Yeah? Well, stop. Dad doesn’t like it.”

 

Ginny searched out Harry. He was watching her from the edge of the group that had formed around Oliver. It wasn’t a trick of the light that caused his eyes to gleam like emeralds. She licked her lips. A touch of jealousy now and then was good for a marriage. It helped them to not take each other for granted. She glanced back at James. He seemed a little put out by her giving a teammate helpful advice.

 

She stroked his jaw. “Even if your middle name wasn’t Sirius, your star would always shine brightest. I’m so proud of you, love.”

 

“Aw, Mum,” James gave her a peck on the cheek, hooking his arm through hers and leading her over to Harry. “Thanks for coming to the match,” he told them. “I know you two get up early. Don’t feel you need to stick around.”

 

Ginny pretended to stifle a yawn. “We won’t. I’m ready for bed.”

 

Harry clapped James on the shoulder. “Great flying, son. Goodnight.” He took her hand and led her outside the pub and around to the alley used for Apparition. “I’ll Apparate us since you’re tired.”

 

She said, “You know talking Quidditch revs me up, it doesn’t wear me out.”

 

“Quidditch or Rocket?”

 

Ginny’s lips curved. “He’s not my type.” She backed up to the brick wall, out of the pool of streetlight.

 

Harry moved into the shadows with her. “Prove it.”

 

She slid her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to hers.

 

 

 

The snog in the alley led to both of them getting revved up and worn out after they got home. Ginny awoke the next morning feeling refreshed and optimistic. Her good mood increased when she perused the newsstand near the _Daily Prophet_ office and saw no one in her family had made tabloid headlines. At work, her idea for the sports human interest story was greeted with eagerness. The day flew by. Harry owled that he’d be home late, so she and Kreacher spent the evening playing cards and listening to music on the wireless.

 

“You used to win a lot less often playing with the children,” Ginny grumbled when Kreacher was the first to group his cards into four sets of Wizard Happy Families for the fifth time in a row. She scowled at the card of Mr. Ollie, the wandmaker. Whoever got him was doomed to lose. Garrick Ollivander, the inspiration for the Ollie family, never had children.

 

Kreacher wheezed out a chuckle.

 

She reached for a purple velvet pouch that contained a deck of cards and a bunch of wooden Galleons. She tossed three pretend Galleons to Kreacher. “I’m going to take all your money and Stop the Knight Bus to throw you off.”

 

He grinned. “We shall see.”

 

Ginny won three hands in a row so quickly, she almost suspected her opponent let her win, even though it was a game of collecting and swapping cards with the centre pile until you thought you had the winning hand and stopped the bus to end the round and tally up points. It didn’t help that Kreacher laughed when she did a victory dance.

 

Her suspicion transformed to concern the moment his laughter turned into a coughing fit. She conjured a glass of water for him to drink, gathered brandy, lemon, and honey to make a soothing toddy, and gently ordered him to go get some rest.

 

 

It wasn’t until she was doing her own relaxing in a bubble bath that it struck Ginny that if someone had told her after Sirius died that one day she’d not just forgive Kreacher, but consider him family, she would’ve sneered at them. Told them after what Kreacher had done, he deserved to be alone for the rest of his miserable life. Not worried about. Fussed over.

 

Loved.

 

Ginny slid beneath the water, holding her breath until she couldn’t survive without air any longer. _Malfoy isn’t Kreacher. I’ll never let him slither his way into our family!_ She surged upright, gulped in frantic breaths, and submerged again. _I’d put poison in his toddy!_ She could almost imagine it, except that Malfoy still looked like a teenager. She’d avoided making direct eye contact with him since Hogwarts, so aside from a glimpse of his no-longer-receding hairline, her mental image of him was hazy.

 

And ridiculous.

 

Poison him? _Really?_ Ginny sat up in the tub and pushed her streaming hair out of her face.  As much as she hated the thought of Malfoy putting his hands on her daughter, she couldn’t kill him for it. She climbed out of the bath and slowly got ready for bed. The emotional overload she’d experienced left her almost numb.

She was propped up against a mound of pillows, leafing through a Quidditch magazine when Harry came into the bedroom. She dropped the magazine onto the duvet. “You look tired, love. Did you have dinner?”

 

Harry nodded.  “Teddy brought in noodle bowls from that Thai place you like.”

 

“Not too spicy, I hope.” As much as Harry loved his job, it was taxing, and he didn’t need heartburn adding to his stress.

 

He shook his head and asked around a yawn, “How was your day?”

 

She told Harry the highpoints while he undressed. Ginny mulled over what else she should share while he took a shower. He returned looking knackered, and she decided not to dump her mixed up, worrying thoughts in his lap when he needed a decent night’s sleep. Once they were lying in the dark, his chest against her back, his arms around her, Ginny tried to sleep, failed, and whispered, “What will we do if Lily and Malfoy stay together?”

 

Harry’s arms tightened around her. “I don’t know.”

 

Somehow, it comforted her that he didn’t have any answers either. “We’ll think of something,” she said and then yawned. “We always do. We’re parents.”

 

His chuckle eased her into sleep.

 

 

 

She awoke with a start. The sound of the shower came through the bathroom door—Harry left the house before she did most days. That wasn’t what had disturbed her. Ginny focused bleary eyes and saw the tips of pointy ears above the mattress. She rose up on an elbow. Kreacher stood clutching a newspaper section that rattled in trembling hands. He was almost cringing, his eyes wide with apprehension.

 

Ginny sat up and reached out to snatch the newspaper. _Her_ paper. Surely, the _Daily Prophet_ wouldn’t print a story about Lily and Malfoy without telling her first? Her gaze flickered across the newsprint. No headline, no photos; her relief was short lived. The section was filled with wedding notices.

 

Heart in throat, she scanned the page and found:

 

**Mr D L Malfoy and Miss L L Potter**

 

The marriage took place . . . _oh Merlin, yesterday_ . . . at Merchant’s Court, Aero Island, Denmark, between Mr Draco Malfoy and Miss Lily Potter.

“Double bluff,” she whispered. The threat to elope was meant to appear as a bluff, but it had been genuine. Lily and Malfoy had gone to Aero instead of Vegas—Merchant’s Court sounded far more elegant than the Elvis Wedding Chapel. Copenhagen must have been where they’d bought rings and Lily’s dress. Dimly, Ginny became aware that the noise of the shower had ceased. She handed the paper back to Kreacher. “At least you were there in her heart.” _I wasn’t. Her father wasn’t._ Tears didn’t well in her eyes. She felt hollowed out the way she had after Fred’s funeral, when she was forced to accept his death, but it still didn’t seem real.

“Mistress.” Along with sympathy, there was reluctance in his tone.

 

“Owls?” she asked. If no one else in her family read the announcements section of the paper, her mum and Fleur did, and the _Prophet’s_ Lifestyle Editor was probably drooling over the possibility of an exclusive interview with the “happy couple.”

 

Kreacher flicked his fingers and a mound of letters appeared on the bedside table.

 

They burst into flame.

 

“Huh,” Ginny said as Kreacher cleared the ashes away with a wave of his hand. “That was a bit of wild magic. All I thought was I’m not reading them.”

 

Harry, dressed in only boxers, smelling freshly showered and shaved, walked out of the bathroom. He had his glasses on and halted to appraise her and Kreacher. “What’s going on?” When Kreacher held out the newspaper section, Harry took it, brows drawn in confusion, and then he froze. His gaze went to Ginny.

 

“Double bluff,” she said.

 

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed a hand across his eyes. “I was afraid this would happen.”

 

“You’re more intuitive than I am. I only feared they’d end up on the front pages of tabloids.” Ginny stood. “I need to get ready for work.”

 

“Gin—”

 

“I’ve been mobbed by journalists before. I know how to say, ‘No comment’.” She headed toward the bathroom, pausing when she neared Harry to ask, “Whatever happens, we’ll be OK, right?”

 

He nodded. His eyes were pained—Lily’s actions had hurt him deeply too—but his expression was resolved. They’d find a way to get through this.

 

 

 

Ginny chose a navy suit with a cropped blazer and a skirt short enough to show that she was fit while still being professional. Wearing black would imply grief over her daughter’s marriage. She refused to cry about it or give anyone the satisfaction of a reaction to the notice in the paper. She ignored the journalists waiting in front of the _Daily Prophet_ the way she would have if they’d shouted questions about Harry’s latest case or James’s rumoured engagement to whatever model he was dating. Anyone inside the building who tried to approach her stopped when their gazes met.  Her staff received similar warning looks. Anyone who asked about Lily and Malfoy would regret it.

 

No one did, which allowed her to concentrate on work.

 

Until the owl post was delivered.

 

She didn’t need to open the letters. The handwriting on each envelope identified her family members. It wasn’t hard to imagine what each person had written. Ginny was sure it was variations of how did this happen, why did you let it happen, why didn’t you tell us and what are you going to do about it? On second thought, the last question would be “what are _we_ going to do about it” because the family would insist on _helping_. Like they could rid the family tree of a Malfoy the way they rid a garden of gnomes.

 

Ginny used a Vanishing Charm on all the letters except James’s. To her relief, he’d simply written:

 

_Poor mum. Should I come home?_

 

She picked up a quill, wrote a note telling James to stay in Puddlemere, that she and his dad were handling things. Afterward, she scratched out a message to Harry and then picked up a third piece of parchment to write an invitation to dinner at Grimmauld Place at seven. Matters could be discussed then. She added a note to Kreacher with instructions to send copies of the invitation to her parents and brothers, apologising for the short notice and telling him he could serve gruel for all she cared. Ginny would’ve offered to pick up takeaway if it wouldn’t have offended Kreacher; she didn’t want him going to any trouble.

 

 

By sheer willpower, she was able to maintain her impassive facade until mid-afternoon when the Lifestyle editor dropped by her office. He didn’t have an appointment. “No comment, Paul.”

 

“Can we say, ‘inside sources close to the family confirm the marriage’?”

 

Ginny sighed. “Fine.”

 

“We’ll use pictures on file if there’s no wedding photo available.” Paul gazed at her hopefully.

 

“Do you what you have to do,” Ginny said.

 

Once he left, she tidied her desk and strode out of the office to inform Thora that she was leaving for the day.

 

 

Her composure cracked when she returned home. The house was silent. No music drifted downstairs; Lily wasn’t lounging in her room, drawing or reading a fashion magazine to while away the hours until she went out for the evening. Ginny made her way upstairs, changed into a Harpies t-shirt and jeans and slowly made her way to Lily’s bedroom. The wardrobe that used to hold princess dresses, sparkly tiaras and tutus was empty. Her little Auror/princess/ballerina no longer leapt and twirled across the rug crying, “Jeté ole!”

 

Kreacher sat on the window seat, legs dangling like a child’s, although a lifetime of pain etched his face. Tears burned Ginny’s eyes. She’d avoided the twins’ room for months after the Battle of Hogwarts, unable to bear the reminder that Fred would never stretch out in the top bunk again. Lily was in Denmark, not the other side of the veil. Ginny would see her again, yet— “Our little girl’s gone.”

 

Gnarled fingers touched hers. “Children grows up.”

 

Ginny swallowed to reduce the ache in her throat. No matter how furiously she blinked, she couldn’t stop tears from sliding down her face. The last time she’d seen her daughter through the gates of Malfoy Manor, they’d rowed like never before. Ginny had been beside herself with worry.

 

_How could you be so stupid? Open this gate immediately so I can tell Draco-bloody-Malfoy what I think of him taking advantage of a young and foolishly trusting—_

_I dictated the terms of the contract! I read the ad. I came here, and I accepted the position. This is my choice and I won’t let you take it away from me!_

 

The expression on Lily’s face had been so angry and disappointed. “What if she never comes home?”

 

Kreacher patted Ginny’s hand. “We will goes to her.”

 

A choked laugh escaped, and then she was sobbing over mistakes and regrets. Kreacher vanished and returned with a flagon. “Thank you,” she said, when the Calming Draught took effect. Her eyes widened. “Sweet Merlin, I invited the family over for dinner.” Beneath her calm, anxiety started to grow. “You didn’t actually make gruel, did you?” His, “No, Mistress” caused her to sag in relief.

 

“Kreacher makes Koldskål, chilled buttermilk soup with rhubarb sauce and berries.”

 

She repeated the name of the soup. “Never heard of it before.”

 

A sly smile curled the ends of Kreacher’s lips. “Koldskål is Danish.”

 

 

 

Harry didn’t make it home until half past six. Ginny had just finished taking a picture of Kreacher holding a bowl of creamy soup topped with raspberries and strawberries when she heard his footsteps on the basement stairs. She placed the insta-print that slid out of Goblin camera on the table and whirled around to snap another photo. Harry’s eyes bulged a little, reminding her of the time she’d compared them to fresh pickled toad.

 

“I’m keeping this one,” she said, at the same time Harry asked, “What are you doing?”

 

“Mistress is sending Miss Lily a picture of the soup we makes in honour of her wedding,” Kreacher said.

 

Ginny nodded. “Danes eat Koldskål for dessert, breakfast, or for a light lunch or dinner. It’s cold and summery.”

 

“Summery.” Harry’s tone was level, but his gaze asked a question that had nothing to do with soup.

 

“I want to open lines of communication.” No matter what she did or who she married, Lily was still their daughter. If Malfoy hoped his wife’s parents would cut her off for having poor taste in men, he’d learn differently.

 

Spell-amplified front door chimes pealed through the house, faded, and rang again.

 

Kreacher set the bowl on the table and picked up the insta-print. Ginny handed him the camera. “Owl Lily. I’ll call for you when we’re ready for dinner.” Once he’d vanished, she told Harry, “We might be living on Koldskål for a while if no one stays after I tell them we aren’t going to lynch Malfoy.” She gestured to his wizard robes. “I’ll answer the door if you’d like to change clothes.”

 

The chimes kept ringing.

 

“Ron’s leaning on the bell,” Harry said with a frown. “I’ll answer the door and tell them you’re in the kitchen.” He Apparated.

 

Ginny arranged glasses near the assortment of wine and liquor bottles she and Kreacher had placed on the worktop to serve as a bar. They were perfectly in order, she was fiddling to keep herself busy, and decided to pour herself a glass of sparkling wine.

 

“Merlin, is that _champagne_? Are you pretending there’s something worth celebrating?” Ron charged toward her. Behind him, Hermione shook her head as if her husband had forgotten his promise to try and keep his temper. Both still wore business attire.

 

Ginny raised her wine glass. “It’s Prosecco, and I needed a drink. Want a glass?”

 

“Yes, please,” Hermione replied while Ron reached for the Firewhisky bottle.

 

 A stampede of footsteps announced the entrance of her parents, brothers and sisters-in-law. Ginny asked Hermione to take over filling wine glasses and went to meet her mum.

 

Molly shook an accusing finger. “You said her older man was a traveling companion, Ginevra!”

 

“I didn’t know they’d get _married,_ mother!”

 

Her mum’s face turned an alarming shade of red.

 

“That’s why I didn’t tell you his name!” Ginny heard the defensiveness in her tone; somehow, she’d devolved from mature woman to teenager called on the carpet. “You’re the one who said it could be a holiday romance, nothing more. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t?” She was aware that they were the centre of attention, and both of them spoke to the family at large as well as each other.

 

“You let Draco Malfoy marry our Lily!” Molly yelled.

 

“I CAN’T CHANGE THAT!” Ginny hollered back. “And neither can you!” She ignored George’s low-voiced assertion that the men of the family bloody well could and said as calmly as possible, “Lily made her choice, and we’ll all have to find a way to live with it.”

 

“Not me,” Ron said. “I’ll never accept that git into our family. Not after Fred.”

 

Ginny bit back the retort that tolerating Malfoy and being civil was the most she was prepared to do—with a few threats to ensure he was aware of the consequences of hurting Lily. She clutched Harry’s hand when he moved to stand beside her.

 

“You don’t have to,” Harry said. “Lily’s not your daughter.” The quiet words rang with authority and finality.

 

No one spoke. Harry had made their position clear without leaving room for argument.

 

Hermione delicately cleared her throat to break the tense silence. “Perhaps it’s best we get together for dinner another night.”

 

On cue, Kreacher appeared by the door to the stairs. “Kreacher will show guests out, Master Harry.”

 

Hermione, Angelina, Audrey and Fleur hugged Ginny before following their husbands upstairs. Ginny looked at her mum. _Would you really give up your granddaughter to shun Malfoy?_

Molly’s face crumpled. “It’s too soon,” she said. “Too soon.” She allowed Arthur to lead her away, her steps slow, fire reduced to ash.

 

 

 

Ginny watched them go and continued to stare at the empty doorway until Harry gave her fingers a comforting squeeze. She said, “Looks like we’ll be having Koldskål for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

 

“I could invite Albus, Rose and Scorpius over to share it with us and take leftovers home.”

 

_Husband code: Send another message of acceptance._

 

“All right.” She tightened her grip on his hand to keep him from Apparating to the Drawing Room to conjure a communication fire in the fireplace. “Tell Scorpius I’d like to borrow a book on how to become an Animagus if he has one.”

 

Harry looked from her to the kitchen table. “I don’t need a horse to ride.”

 

“True.” They’d have to test the table’s sturdiness—using Disillusionment Charms to ensure privacy—very soon.  “But what if my Animagus form doesn’t match my Patronus?”

 

“What else would it be?”

 

Ginny saw herself flying high above the Wiltshire countryside with Harry riding on her back. In her vision, they were both grinning. Whether it was imagination or precognition, she was left with the feeling that whatever happened in the future, they would be OK.

 

Her smile showed teeth. “A red dragon.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Although every one-shot should be able to stand alone, if there’s a reader who has never read the ones before this: Love and Alchemy, Alchemical Love, and A Family Affair (In which Lily/Draco romance is centre stage) I’d love you to do so. And I hope anyone who disliked Ginny’s health nut/sugar free characterization in Cursed Child enjoyed the way I wrote her here. :)


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